


Like Me

by Daiya_Darko



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/M, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 21:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13866114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daiya_Darko/pseuds/Daiya_Darko
Summary: Erik doesn't understand why anyone would care about someone like him.





	Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Like Me by Joey Bada$$

When Erik awakes on the hospital bed with cuffs around his wrists and ankles, dread nearly knocks the breath from his chest. This wasn’t what he wanted; he had made his bed and been prepared to lie in it.

But instead he was breathing, looking around at the sterile white of his confinements. Four members of the Dora Milaje stood at attention at each corner of his bed, eyes focused on him, waiting for any move out of place.

Erik wanted to laugh; there was no way he would be moving in this situation.

Shuri came into view then, surprisingly timid as T’Challa accompanied her, looking as stoic and peaceful as usual. His calmness made Erik sick.

“I see you are awake,” T’Challa said quietly as Shuri checked his vitals and nodded at the guards keeping watch. “How are you feeling?”

Erik blinked. He recalled their last moments together as the sun had set, thinking he’d said everything that needed to be said then. Why had T’Challa resuscitated him?

“Alive.”

“Good.”

Erik did not respond.

 

* * *

 

Whatever ulterior motives the royal family may have had by sparing Erik’s life, he could not piece together. He was more of a threat than a tool, a hindrance, a loose end. He had attempted to kill T’Challa. He killed so many people. He killed Linda.

Erik denies the food they bring him, once more. He doesn’t want to eat. He doesn’t plan to be here much longer.

“Do you want to talk today?” Nakia asks, and Erik doesn’t understand how she can bear to look at him.

Erik avoids her eyes, for the third day in a row, and keeps his arms folded as he sits up against the cell wall. There’s a clear glass material between him and the outside world, and he gets to watch as he’s ignored except for meals and periodic check ups. Why Nakia is even speaking to him is beyond Erik’s comprehension; she’s not a therapist, but a spy, and Erik will be damned if he’s going to speak to her.

“Well, I’m going to talk to you whether you listen or not,” Nakia announces, pulling up a chair and getting comfortable.

Erik keeps his eyes on the floor.

“I pulled up some classified files from Zuri and N’Jobu’s assignments,” she begins, teasing the information before Erik, but he doesn’t bite. He’s a well-trained dog.

“Your mother, she wasn’t able to take care of you after your father died,” Nakia began quietly. “You entered the welfare system not long after. Do you miss her?”

Erik hadn’t thought of his mother in decades. He couldn’t recall her face, her voice, or anything else about her. He had always adored his father, to the point that she was an afterthought.

Nakia continues, “Your foster parents recognized you were a very bright and talented child and enrolled you in many programs to foster those gifts. You were very loved, Erik.”

He can practically hear the unspoken rest of that statement: _So what happened? What went wrong?_

“Why don’t you tell me what you remember about growing up?”

Erik unfolds his arms, and straightens his posture, finally meeting her eyes.

Nakia is resolute. Her head is high, eyes focused and sharp. Her mouth is curved in a gentle smile, but Erik knows better than to trust pretty faces.

“Ain’t nothing to tell. You got all the answers in those files. You already know everything about me, so I don’t know why you’re sitting here telling me shit I already know about myself.”

Nakia presses. “I want to hear from your point of view your experiences. Hard data doesn’t tell me anything about emotions.”

Erik snorts derisively. “Why do you care?”

“Well,” Nakia shifts in her seat, unfolding her legs to tuck her ankles. “I think you can be helped.”

“Helped?” Erik barks out a caustic laugh. “I need help? The only thing I need is a gun, to put a bullet through my head.”

Nakia’s eyes hardened. “T’Challa told me what you said, and I don’t believe that’s the only option. You don’t have to be a prisoner here. If we can deal with -"

Erik storms across the cell in an instant, slamming his fist into the glass. He’s knocked back by the recoil - vibranium, of course. Erik pulls himself to his feet to stand across from Nakia, still sitting composed in her chair, dressed nice and neat. Erik thinks about how nice it must be for T’Challa to have such a nice girlfriend.

“I don’t want to be dealt with. If I’m not free, I’m not alive.”

“You’re an amazing soldier; survival is in your programming.”

“And I’m telling you I can’t survive like this!”

“You’ll find a way,” Nakia smiles. “It would help if you actually ate your meals.”

“Why? So you can slip drugs into them to make me a compliant little pet for y’all? Nah, I’m good on that.” Erik walks back to his bench on the wall, resuming his position from before.

Nakia finally leaves, and Erik counts that as a win.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Erik wakes up to find breakfast waiting for him once more, but it’s T’Challa holding two trays instead of the usual guard with one. Erik watches him silently, unmoving, as he enters the cell and sets the trays on the bench between them.

“Go ahead, pick either one,” T’Challa urges.

Erik’s stomach turns, his shoulders slumping forward as he moves back a bit. T’Challa regards him with mild confusion.

“What is the matter?”

Erik shakes his head and looks away. “Why are you trying to save me?”

“Why don’t you want to be saved?”

The question rips into Erik’s heart, and before he can fully process the pain, he’s angry, standing suddenly and causing T’Challa to react by getting to his feet as well.

“Man, what the fuck is wrong with y’all?” Erik explodes. “I tried to kill you, and now you wanna have brunch and talk about my feelings?”

“You are my family,” T’Challa says evenly, trying to placate the irritated man before him, “And I want to actually do right by you. Letting you die would be the easy way out.”

 _Dying is the easy way out,_ Erik hears in his head. His chest is tight, eyes stinging. He doesn’t know what this is or why he’s feeling like this, but he hates it, and he hates T’Challa.

“I fucking hate you,” he growls. “We are _not_ family.”

“Whether you like it or not, that ring around your neck binds us,” T’Challa says quietly. “Now sit, and let us eat our meals.” When T’Challa goes back to the bench and begins picking at the food on the tray, Erik feels a hollowness inside, and joins him.

 

* * *

 

Erik eats, and Erik sleeps, and Erik even speaks. The more he plays their game, the more they relax their restrictions on him. They give him books to read, music to listen to, paper and pens for writing. A deck of cards, and sometimes T’Challa and Nakia play games with him. Not the mind games, but the fun kind. T’Challa even gives him some weights and a pull up bar, to keep himself physically active. It becomes more and more clear what their intention is: rehabilitation.

But Erik knows himself. He knows there’s no fixing what he has become.

 

* * *

 

“How are you feeling today?”

“You ask me that every day.”

“And I’m still waiting for an answer,” Nakia jokes. She’s beautiful. She’s patient. She’s kind.

Erik asks, “So why do you love him, huh?”

The sudden shift in dynamic catches her off guard, and Nakia has to regroup herself. “We’re talking about you right now.”

Erik flashes her a smile, the smile he uses with all the pretty faces to get what he wants. He sits cross legged on the floor across from her, Nakia now inside the cell these days since T’Challa decided it was safe. He leans back on his hands, shrugging as he awaits her answer.

Nakia pauses, and then answers carefully, “T’Challa was my friend before we began a romantic relationship. I never really questioned why I love him; I just do.”

Erik fills in the blanks: _he’s nice, he’s funny, he’s safe._

“Yeah? And does he treat you right?”

“Of course!”

“And he’s always honest with you, always listens to you, really puts your feelings first?”

Nakia hesitated. “Well, not all the time, but I think that’s part of the charm.”

Erik nodded. “And he fucks you good? Hits all the right spots?”

Nakia swears and slaps Erik’s knee, making him fall over with laughter at her scandalized reaction. Slowly, however, Nakia falls into giggles as well, realizing how relaxed this is.

Erik notices.

 

* * *

 

They take him out on a walk one night, T’Challa and Nakia, up to the cliffs to stargaze. It’s a warm, easy night with no clouds and the sounds of animals and insects setting the mood. They look over the city, and look up at the sky.

“Y’all,” Erik begins, “you been asking me questions and talking to me and treating me like I’m a person for the past year, and I just want to say thank you.”

T’Challa and Nakia look between themselves with excitement, and Erik’s heart swells. It’s a feeling he’s become used to, happiness.

“Thank you for showing me the view from here,” Erik says. “Thank you for showing me what love is like.”

Nakia reaches over and touches his shoulder. “Erik, thank _you_ for giving us a chance to get to know you better.”

T’Challa grins, watching them interact. Erik can practically feel the satisfaction rolling off him in waves. Another job done. What a good king.

“You know, before you guys, I didn’t know what all these feelings were,” Erik begins, lying back into the grass. The soft soil contours to his body, and the smell of flowers wafts past his nose. “I was so angry, I just focused on that anger my entire life. I was hurting so much and I forgot what it was like to be loved. I didn’t think it existed. But you showed me a kindness I didn’t think existed anymore,” Erik says softly. Tears begin to well up in his eyes, and Erik doesn’t fight them anymore. He lets them roll down his cheeks and into the earth. “I’m not worth the time and effort you put in -”

“Yes you are,” T’Challa hisses, yanking him up from the ground and holding him tightly in his arms. “You’re my family, and I would save you again. I would go back in time and save your father if I could. I wish I could save everyone, and I can’t, but I could save you. I saved you and that’s all that matters,” T’Challa says, tears soaking into Erik’s collar. Nakia moves to sit closer to them both, rubbing their backs and resting her cheek on Erik’s shoulder.

“You guys are making it hard to want to kill myself,” Erik half-sobbed. “I don’t know who I am without the anger in me anymore. You stripped the only thing I had to get by in life, my only reason to live, and left me empty!” Erik is shouting now, shaking them off. He stomps towards the cliff, looking over at the drop.

It’s far. It would certainly kill him.

Erik inhales and closes his eyes. If he looks behind him, he knows he’ll see their faces and want to turn back. If he opens his eyes, he will jump.

“You don’t have to be empty,” Nakia’s quiet voice calls. It’s shaky, unlike her. He made her like this. Erik feels remorse, for the first time in his life. He is feeling.

He is feeling.

“Your anger is still there, but now you have so many other emotions,” T’Challa adds, voice as steady as ever. “You accomplished your goals, you came to Wakanda and took the throne; maybe you just need a new goal now, and Nakia has plenty of work that needs to done.”

Erik shivers. He could have a new calling. He could live a good, full life. A life he doesn’t deserve.

“A person like me doesn’t deserve a redemption arc, man,” Erik shakes his head.

“You are the very kind of person who does!” Nakia’s shrill voice cuts through the soft night air. “Life wasn’t fair to you, you were turned into a tool, and used your rage as a weapon because of it! A person like you is a _victim_ , _N’Jadaka_.”

Erik’s composure crumples, and he falls to his knees. They rush to his side, grabbing him before he can fall over the edge, crying uncontrollably.

_Maybe there’s hope for someone like me._

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I'm a disgusting Killmonger apologist hop off my nuts


End file.
